


Devil's Tongue

by NeoVenus22



Category: Firefly
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-23
Updated: 2009-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-05 01:30:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/36307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeoVenus22/pseuds/NeoVenus22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As <i>Serenity</i> approaches the Companion training house, Mal tries to cope with the prospect of losing a vital member of his crew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Devil's Tongue

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: _Serenity_.

Mal could feel it, a burning knot in his gut, and stinging behind his eyes. He blinked furiously until it receded, and then took a long drink, so that if it cropped up again, he'd at least have an excuse.

It should have been easy. It was over. The ship was sailing again, the Alliance was off his ass, and operations were the smoothest they'd been since taking passengers back on Persephone. He should have been happy.

He should have been dead.

He knew it, knew he'd cheated death more times than he deserved. As a result, he'd lost his pilot (his friend) in trade-off. Wash was vital to his crew for more than his flying skills. He was a much-needed levity in the black, had a way of makin' you smile when you didn't think you still knew how. And those Reaver sons of bitches had put a gorram _tree_ through him.

Inara came into the hall, and Mal's knot burned hotter, shrinking into itself as it pulled taut, becoming a stone. The two of them hadn't been alone in the same room for more than seconds at a time since they'd taken off. Avoiding her wasn't gonna make her stay, he knew, especially as they got closer and closer to their destination. But all the same, he found himself unable to look at her.

She sat down, and he was tensed to get up when she spoke. "River's flying very well."

"Little one's full of secrets," he said, taking another swallow. It seared his throat, but he was still far too sober. He relaxed against the wood frame of his chair.

"We all are," she said.

"Like you," he gestured with his bottle. "Shacking up with us brigands instead of living in the splendor of your training house."

"I'm a bit of a brigand myself now," she said with an indulgent smile.

"Way Zoë tells it, you were indispensable. Saved her life."

"Zoë exaggerates." She was even prettier when she blushed.

"Ain't never have, ain't never will."

"Well."

The awkward air stifled, and he took an impressive swig to clear a pathway through the thickness that pressed on him inside and out. "You're the damn finest thing ever pass through these halls," he finally confessed. "I was goin' off, thinking that you were the last thing I wanted to see. I wasn't much expectin' to see you with a weapon, ever." He smiled to himself. "Even made that look beautiful."

"Mal, you're drunk."

"Just drunk enough to be honest." Mal stared at his mug.

"I was so set in my beliefs," said Inara thoughtfully. "I never understood why you hated the Alliance so much, never saw _why_. And now...I wish I'd never seen."

"I'll drink to that." He did.

"I'll drink too," she said, and lifting an eyebrow, he slid it over to her. She drank it clean and passed it back to him. "That's foul."

He stared at her admiringly. "You're full of surprises."

"Rule number one: control. Everything is controlled. Keep yourself under lock and key, share what you choose."

"What else you choosing not to share?"

There was a moment of silence. "I missed it here much more than I let on."

"Ship weren't the only one missed," he muttered. If he was a braver man, a stupider man (though there were many who could argue that notion), he would be able to say what he was really thinking. He could lie, he could cheat, he could steal, he could run, he could fight, he could even sing relatively harmlessly, given that he had a nice hot shower around him and no ears to hear him for miles. And yet he would never in his life be able to bring words to what was in the air between them.

"Yes, you mentioned that Kaylee was a bit lonely."

Mal waved aside this notion. "She had the doc." And now his gorram mug was empty. That was something that would have to be remedied fast, because he hadn't yet drunk enough to make himself unaccountable for his actions. Even if he couldn't say, nor would ever say...that..., he was still truthsome enough to say something the both of them might regret. He got up, rummaged in one of the lockers until he found Jayne's most searing liquid, deemed by Simon to be too strong for even medical emergencies. Not fit for human consumption. Mal downed it. "I reckon I missed you some, too." He grinned weakly. "Better than lookin' at Jayne all day."

"I should hope so."

"I 'spect it's how you make a living, and all that," he said. "You know, Inara, I ain't never met a Companion before you. Or since then, come to think of it. And if any of 'em is even half as beautiful as you are on a bad day, then I can understand why the Alliance favors your kind so highly."

"Don't be ridiculous, Mal. I don't have bad days."

He lifted his head to look at her, and was rewarded with an almost devious smile. The knot in his stomach unraveled and doubled all at once. Inara was the sort who could do that to him, spin him about, tie him and untie him at the same time.

"Can't imagine you do," he agreed.

There was a long silence once more, and Mal couldn't bring himself to look anywhere but at the dark liquid splashing at the bottom of his mug. "You plannin' on going back to your girls?"

"I thought we agreed that that particular matter was undecided," she said, her words evenly spaced and her voice deliberate. He knew that tone well enough to know that she was trying to keep her temper, but he couldn't imagine what he'd said to make her threaten to lose it.

"Yeah, well, you ain't exactly safe up here. Alliance man tells it that we're not completely off the radar."

"And if you'll recall, I wasn't safe at the training house, either." She paused. "The way I see it, Mal, as long as I know you, I'll never be safe."

Mal looked over at her, but she was intently studying the scratched bargain-basement mess table. There was something else to her tone, something that he couldn't decipher, even as well as he thought he knew her.

The ship lurched, and Mal was jolted forward in his chair, middle pressing up uncomfortably against the table. Wood bearing into skin and guts and pressing against that damned knot. It pressed it right away, because Mal felt relaxed for the first time in some time. He rose up, grabbing the nearest intercom he could find, and demanded of the bridge, "What in the name a'hell was that?" He was drunk enough to be particularly ornery.

"That was all me, Cap'n," came back Kaylee's breathless voice, and he didn't like to think about what might be making her lose her breath. "She just got a little out of hand, that's all. Everything's shiny."

"Everything better damn well be shiny," he said.

The ship jerked a second time, and he went stumbling. It was only a foot, but the action made things a mite swimmy. He decided maybe it would be a better idea to sit down, or lie down, for just a minute. Then he could go and find his crew—

When he opened his eyes again, there were a series of things amiss. For one, he was not in the dining room, but in his own quarters, staring up at the bland ceiling. For another, there was someone else in the room with him. Inara was perched on a chair, sipping from a cup of tea. "You're awake," she observed, smiling very slightly. "How do you feel?"

"Did they crash my ship again?" he asked, sitting up too quickly and rubbing his head to ease the dizzy ache.

"_Serenity_ will live to fly another day," she said. "We're docked on a border moon." She took another long and thoughtful sip. "I've come to ask you a favor." Malcolm Reynolds didn't do favors, but he was too tired to tell her that. "I need some help carrying things. Simon's not strong enough, and I'd really rather that Jayne not leave the ship."

"You promise to never let me drink from Jayne's cupboard again, and we got ourselves a deal," he said. He stood, shakily, and when he didn't fall over and the black spots dancing behind his eyes faded, he climbed up and out.

He recognized this moon as soon as stepping on it, and as soon as stepping on it, he wanted to turn around, get back on his ship, and sleep off this damn hangover. Let Zoë do whatever Inara had in mind. It'd be a good thing, getting her off the ship for awhile.

The last time Mal was here, he'd been hiding from Feds, getting his ass kicked by a psychopath, and wearing a flouncy robe. The last time he'd been here prior to that, he'd been droppin' off Inara without so much as a goodbye. He'd deposited her trunk on the dirt, watched her hug Kaylee, and went back on the ship to make sure everything was okay for departure.

Inara moved up the stairs with grace and refinement, and he was stumbling along behind her like a drunken idiot, to greet the Companion waiting for them at the top of the stairs. She was not, as Mal had put it earlier, half as beautiful as Inara on a bad day. That almost put Mal in a mind to dislike her, but her chilly demeanor did the work for him. "Welcome back, Inara. Your room is ready."

"Thank you," Inara said with a kind smile. "Sheydra, this is Captain Reynolds. Mal, this is Sheydra, the superintendent of the house."

The way Sheydra appraised Mal reminded him of his first meeting with Inara. In one look, he was written off as the sort of man that would never be acceptable as a client. Hell, he wouldn't even make it into their registry. He tried not to let his irritation show simply out of respect for Inara (they were here, after all, and so much as a wrong look might convince her to set up camp on this damn moon for good this time), and pasted on an insincere smile for the blond Companion.

"Well," she said. "This must be the pirate." She turned abruptly and led the way into the house.

_Pirate_? Mal mouthed the word at Inara, who shook her head in a reprimanding sort of way. Mal promised himself that when they got back on his ship, he was sitting the woman down and interrogating her.

He'd been through the house before, and had even seen the girls before, but operating under a very crafty disguise as a fellow whore-to-be. They'd looked at him, deemed him the most unsightly woman this side of anything, then paid him no never mind, which was to his benefit. Now, though, it seemed the halls were flooded with girls, all pushin' each other aside to watch him following Inara following Sheydra.

"Is that him? The pirate?"

"Oh, he's very rugged. I can see why she loves him."

"Those Independents are a beastly bunch, aren't they?"

"I think he's incredibly handsome."

"I didn't know they let guns into the house."

"He needs to be armed. He's protecting Inara."

"Oh, how romantic."

Mal didn't know what in the name of anything they were talking about, and he wasn't sure if he even wanted to. It only solidified the interrogation idea in his mind. He did his best to not stare, or make faces, or do anything that would cause more babble to go on around him. Like he didn't get enough of that on his own ship, when Kaylee and River had a mind to. He was suddenly reminded of another reason why he liked having Wash around; it was the closest thing he ever got to having a normal conversation on that boat.

"I can't imagine how it would be a problem, seeing as how he managed to carry you around a burning temple," Sheydra said to Inara, "but if your pirate has trouble with your trunks, I'm sure there are a few strapping young men around, willing to assist." With a smile Mal couldn't interpret, she left in a cloud of perfume.

Hell, getting back to the ship nothing. The sooner the interrogation took place, the better. "You care to tell me why your fan club keeps muttering around me?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said stiffly. "These trunks aren't going to carry themselves, Mal. Would you like me to go back and get Jayne? Because I will."

"I'm not a pirate," he insisted, though he wasn't sure about the looseness of the definition of pirate. "More importantly, I ain't anybody's pirate, least of all yours. What the hell is going on?"

Inara sighed. "When I left _Serenity_ to come here, all sorts of rumors managed to get in my trunk along with my effects. And now, all of the girls think that you and I are some sort of...I don't know, a crime-fighting Romeo and Juliet." She cast him a dark look. "You _do_ know who Romeo and Juliet are, don't you?"

At this precise moment, Mal _really_ didn't like her. "Star-crossed lovers, et cetera. Just 'cause I'm one of those 'beastly Independents'—"

"And who said that?"

"One of your precious youngin's. What's all this about a burning temple, now?"

Inara colored something fierce. "Nothing. Silly notions of silly young girls, is all. It's not important." When she looked away, he reckoned it was, and he made a mental note to get it out of her eventually. But much later. Unfortunately, at the moment, he had more pressing matters to attend to. Such as hefting this gigantic trunk of hers out of this house, and off to _Serenity_ (docked too far away for his liking) without looking like he was straining. A secondary task was to make sure that none of his crew saw this struggle. When he finally deposited the last trunk in Inara's shuttle, his arms and legs felt like jelly, and he had developed a powerful throbbing headache. He called River up on the comm to tell her they were ready to set sail as soon as Inara came aboard, and then sat down on a trunk to catch his breath.

"Mal? Is everything all right?"

Inara, who had finally finished her long goodbyes, was standing in the doorway to the shuttle, her gown foofing out from her hips so that the long skirt filled up the foot of the frame. She was staring at him with concern, but he was sure he caught some amusement in her eye. He stood up hastily.

"Everything's fine," he said. "Your—ah, your quarters, they're—looking a little bare."

She smiled slightly. "That should be fixed soon enough." There was a moment of silence, punctuated by the ship firing up.

"Well, then, I'll leave you to it. The girl's got the hang of flyin' all right, but I don't trust my ship in the hands of just anybody."

"No, I certainly imagine you don't," she answered. "Enjoy yourself."

"Well, if'n you need any help, you know, moving things..."

"I'm sure Jayne's free."

Mal glared at her innocent smile, too irritated to invent an appropriate comeback. Instead, he just turned on his heel and headed out towards the cargo bay. Her voice stopped him, "Mal," and he turned.

"What's that?"

The smile on her face was one he'd only seen once before, one without a shred of Companion training in it. It wasn't the same sort of Guild-smile she'd flashed 'round at that house. It was somethin' genuine and real, and Mal felt sort of warm in its presence. "Thank you," she said simply. That woman had a gift for turning an innocuous phrase into something so complex that no amount of schooling in the world might be able to decipher all the layers. But he got the gist.

"Welcome back," he said with a small smile of his own, one that held no nuances or secrets, one that was as tired and hung over and screwy as he figured himself to be. He stepped out of the shuttle and into the cargo bay; breathed in the scent that always accompanied a takeoff, shaky or successful, and felt the knot start to unravel.


End file.
